You're the One
by celticmusebooks
Summary: A series of short fics based on a song meme challenge humor, angst, romance. Uprated to M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

#1 I'll Never Fall in Love Again Mary-Chapin Carpenter

"What the hell?" Chapel set the small bouquet of roses on the table next to the door.

.

"We must talk Christine."

"I'm sorry Chris." Uhura scurried in behind the intruder, her silky claret colored gown making a soft swooshing sound along the highly polished wood floor. "I tried to stop him…"

"It's okay, I've got it Ny."

Christine cast the Vulcan a hard look. "I don't recall sending you an invitation."

"You look lovely."

"It's the dress."

"The dress is lovely as well."

"It's a wedding dress. That's your first clue."

"Yes. Saavik informed me of your impending nuptials."

"To which you were not invited."

"Yet I am here."

"To give away the bride perhaps?" she laughed bitterly. "You did that a long time ago Spock."

"You love me."

"No longer relevant."

"Do you love him?"

"Not your concern."

"What if I love you?"

"Love is overrated."

The opening strains of Pacabel Canon in D filtered in from the next room.

"Well that's my cue."

Christine picked up the bouquet of roses and then she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**#2 You're the One Moya Brennan and Shane McGowan**

Spock listened anxiously as the tribunal handed down it's judgement. Valeris would spend the rest of her life on in the dilithium mines of Rhura Pente. He attempted to suppress the disturbingly unVulcan feeling of vindication. How could he have been so blinded by her accomplishments as a Vulcan that he'd never really seen her? Not until that moment on the bridge of the Enterprise, the horrible moment that had seared his soul.

It had been so with T'Pring as well. She would have seen him dead. Lelia she had claimed to love him, but had exposed him to the spores. Zarabeth, would have stolen his life and McCoy's for her own ends.

Across the courtroom he sensed her even before her soft sapphire eyes found him. He'd told her once it would be illogical to protest against their natures; yet he'd fought the truth of what was between them for decades. Determined, he moved through the cheering crowds and unashamed he pulled the startled woman to him and kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

#**3 Diamonds and Rust Joan Baez**

They stand together. The Admiral, Leonard her mentor, Nyota her best friend. Sulu, Chekov Scotty, then he rises and joins them. Even now the sight of him can move her, like no other man in the universe. He looks at her, no that's not quite accurate, he looks through her as if she doesn't exist.

The judgment is passed and the crowds are cheering. She wants to disappear, but Sarek pushes her forward toward her former crewmates. Ny and Len hug and kiss her. Even Kirk embraces her as a long lost friend. Spock regards them with detached fascination for a moment then embraces her stiffly.

"You loved me."

She's not sure if he's making a statement or asking question, not sure of how much truth she owes him. The silence between them speaks a truth she doesn't want to hear. It is as she feared. He doesn't remember her. The diamond ring on her left hand feels like an anchor pulling her under.

"I shall honor any commitments I have made to you."

Honor. It's one of the things she loves about him, but now the word draws blood.

Covering the wound she raises her hand, trembling fingers forming the ritual Vulcan salute.

"Live Long and Prosper Captain Spock."

Before he can respond she has disappeared into the crowd.


	4. Chapter 4

**#5 Óró, Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile (the Welcome Home Party)**

There is a sudden commotion and Christine hears the village women chanting, the melody feels ancient, visceral. Though they have been stranded on this planet for almost six months, she still knows only a handful of words in the language of the natives, but understands that the hunting party has returned with food.

The harsh winter with so little food has been hard on these people, many have sickened and died. But Christine feels little relief at the success of the hunt. Altan, the chief, has promised her to the first man to return with an animal. She moves with the other women to the common area outside of the huts.

Altan sits in front of the fire as a tall savage looking man effortlessly tosses the enormous beast at the feet of the chief. Christine feels her knees buckle and struggles to keep her footing as she realizes that it is Spock who has killed the creature. Nodding to Altan the Vulcan grabs Christine's arm forcefully speaking one word in the tribal language.

"Mine"


	5. Chapter 5

**#4 Song to the Siren Sinead O'Connor**

His eyes are dark stars, consuming the light, consuming her. He pulls her in without conscious effort. She offers him everything without his asking. She asks nothing for herself. It is beyond his comprehension. _Touch me not come back tomorrow. _

Yet he resists her.

She asks nothing of him, and he realizes now that she never has. He's drowning in a vortex of pain and need. He burns with fires of the ancient times. _Shall I die with death my bride?_

Yet he resists her.

Cool sweet hands reaching through his pain, no their pain, even as she embraces him she embraces the pain. Her eyes, blue like the summer skies of Terra. He expects to see fear in those eyes but finds none. Instead, he sees something unfathomable. Their minds join effortlessly, and he sees her now as if for the first time_. Here I am. Here I am, waiting to hold you_

He is one with the siren's song.


	6. Chapter 6

#6 Birds and Ships Billy Bragg and Willco with Natalie Merchant

A widow's walk. That's what the real estate agent had called it. Christine loved the peaceful sea view it accorded her after a long day at Starfleet. Centuries ago the original owner of the house spent her nights watching for the ship that would return her man from the sea; a ship than never arrived. The night was clear and she looked to the stars above—her man was somewhere there among them. She felt a sudden chill, though the evening was mild.

The wedding invitations were programmed in the com; he'd done that for her before he left with young Saavik for the cadet training mission. Sighing she looked again to the night sky. "Come home to me my love."


	7. Chapter 7

# 7 When the Stars Go Blue Bono and Andrea Corr

Spock stood outside of the small private observation deck unsure of how he'd come to be in the deserted passageway; unsure, or perhaps more truthfully, unwilling to admit that her pain had drawn him there.

The briefing after the episode with Parmen and his followers had been almost as devastating as the incident itself. Speaking aloud of the violation had strangely made it even more real. Were there words to describe what Parmen and done to them? He doubted he would ever forget the sound of the sweet nurse's voice, like a small wounded creature, inflectionless as she described the manner in which they'd been forced together. How he'd moved toward her brandishing the red hot poker. He'd been astounded by her composure as she gave her statement; her description of events has been detached, clinical.

But now, on the other side of the door he could hear her sobbing softly. Strange that she should choose this place, the very same place he'd come so many times seeking solitude. The logical thing would be to go and allow her privacy he told himself, even as he used his command override to open the door.

"Please… just give me a few minutes..." her whispered plea cut him to his very soul. Anxiously his dark eyes searched the small room and found her, a dark silhouette against the sparkling vista of stars.

"Christine," he whispered through the shadows.

Hesitantly she turned to face him. The tears that streamed down her pale cheeks glistened live a river of diamonds in the silvery starlight flooding though the observation window. Tenderly he reached out, his long slender fingers lightly touched her cheek and the maelstrom of her human emotions washed over him, shame, anger, fear, and a crushing feeling of loneliness that matched his own.

She gazed at him, her sapphire eyes sparkling like stars and he remembered something his father once said and he knew it was the logical thing to do. He pulled her to him and held her gently as he kissed her.


	8. Chapter 8

#9 You Can Leave Your Hat On by Randy Newman

"I believe it would facilitate matters if you were to remove your clothing and lie down"

Christine struggled to maintain her already tenuous composure as she turned to face the Vulcan First Officer.

"Aren't you at least going to buy me a drink first?" she responded hoping to insert a note of levity to break the tension of the situation.

The ubiquitous raised eyebrow and impatient look on the Vulcan's face told Christine that her attempt at humor had fallen flat. "It was a joke," she responded hoping to at least see the eyebrow lowered to half mast.

"I fail to understand…"

"Look," she interrupted, "we don't have to do this. I know Leonard goaded you into it so let's just forget it."

"I assure you that Dr. McCoy had nothing to do with any of this. Now please, disrobe and lie down so we may begin."

"Okay," she agreed against her better judgment, feigning a light, breezy tone. Why on earth had she agreed to this? "Where?" she asked surveying the Vulcan's richly appointed quarters anxiously.

He gestured to a grouping of large floor pillows in the dim corner near the fire pot. As she approached the pillows she could see that they were richly upholstered with an elegant silky looking damask fabric. Six unlit candles bordered the pillows. She looked back to find him watching her through the flickering light from the firepot.

Christine was thankful for the dim lighting of the First Officer's quarters,as she felt quite certain she was blushing. She made a flat circular gesture with her right index finger. He nodded his understanding and turned his back to her.

As she started to unfasten her tunic she heard him clear his throat, "There is a coverlet next to the pillows if you are cold."

"Thanks," she responded, wondering if he really thought there was a snowball's chance on Vulcan she might be cold. The cabin temperature, set to Vulcan normal, reminded her of a sauna. "Have you done this before?" she asked trying to keep the apprehension she was feeling from her voice.

"Yes," he answered, his tone sounded annoyed, or at least as annoyed for a Vulcan. "Is that what is worrying you?"

"Well," she hesitated, "have you done it with a human?" she stood for a moment naked in the dancing light and realized that he had removed his shirt and was clad solely in a pair of soft, dark colored drawstring pants, even in the semidarkness they left little to the imagination.

"I have done this with the Captain a number of times," he replied as he carefully folded his shirt and placed it on the chair next to his desk. "I can assure you I am not a novice."

Slowly, she lowered herself to the pillows and luxuriated in the sensual feel of the Vulcan fabric against her bare skin.

"May I turn around?" he asked, and Christine was almost certain she'd heard amusement in his voice.

"Just a moment," she scrambled to find the coverlet which she discovered to her dismay was little more than a thin sheet of fabric. "Okay."

He moved toward her in silence; his bare feet making no sound of the soft carpeting. Slowly he lit the candles that bracketed the makeshift bed, and she heard him whisper a soft unintelligible incantation, which she presumed to be in his native language, as each candle caught the flame.

"Roll over,' he said softly.

Grasping the thin coverlet to her body, she gingerly maneuvered her self so that she was lying on her stomach.

"You must breathe." he whispered, and now she was certain that he sounded amused.

In a single lithe motion he seated himself, cross-legged, beside her. He spoke again in the unfamiliar tongue and she was aware of a sweet fragrance that had begun to permeate the room. She heard him rub his hands together briefly and then, slick with a light oily substance they made contact with the nape of her neck.

For the barest of moments she experienced an illogical feeling of panic. _I hope he knows I'm not a virgin_, she thought to herself, realizing that she knew even less about Vulcan religious practices that she did about Vulcan sexual practices. _What if this is all a clever ruse to sacrifice me to some ancient Vulcan god?_

She moaned slightly as his hands, so incredibly gentle, moved down her neck to her shoulders, and she experienced a most exquisite pleasure that gently spread itself throughout her body.

"_You are not a virgin? I am shocked Doctor Chapel."_ It was Spock's voice, but coming from inside of her mind.

"What?" Christine tensed, "how did you do that?"

_Shhhh. When I am touching you I can read your thoughts." _He moved his fingers from her neck to her shoulders again and eliciting another pleasured moan.

"Are you still feeling pain?" he asked softly.

"No," she replied sounding amazed. For the first time in over a week she was totally free of pain. "Thank you. I'm sorry for doubting you. There isn't much in the literature about Vulcan Neuropressure"

"There is no offense where no offense is taken."

"So, "she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You do this with the Captain?"

"Yes, well not exactly like this" his voice seemed suddenly smoother deeper. His hands, she realized were now underneath the thin sheet, moving on a decidedly southern route.

"What do you mean not exactly like this?" she asked as she abruptly sat up and pulled the sheet hastily around her slender form. It must have been a trick of the unusual lighting conditions because she was certain that she'd seen a faint smile-and Vulcan's just didn't smile.

"Well," he cocked his head to the side and stared at her with an expression that made her stomach do a flip flop. "We use one of the biobeds in Sickbay." Then he leaned closer much closer, his lips grazing the delicate curve of her ear. His voice became a low jagged whisper, "and he leaves his clothes on."


	9. Chapter 9

He was still, so very still, and for a moment she thought, perhaps for a moment even hoped, he was dead. Apparently her medical oath trumped the revulsion she felt at the sight of him, because she half heartedly wrapped a tattered sheet around herself and padded to the closet where she'd stowed her medical bag.

The room was claustrophobic, tiny, windowless, nondescript. Not surprisingly, given the general intention of such a venue, the bed took up the majority of the space. There was no desk or viewscreen, there wasn't even a chair to sit on. Utilitarian, like a prison, she mused tartly, but without the amenities. Of course they had not chosen this particular establishment for its ambience. It was the kind of place where no one asked too many questions and no one was in a position to call the authorities if the couple in the next room got a little too rambunctious. Rambunctious, that was certainly a vanilla term for it, she considered as she ran the tiny portable scanner over his pale body. Forty seven hours, they'd been here nearly two days she noted as she waited for the device to calibrate

_Normal._ Well at least normal for a Vulcan in the end phase of the Pon Farr, she corrected herself laughing bitterly as if there was anything normal about a Vulcan. His hormonal activity was still somewhat elevated; neurotransmitters working overtime, but the rest of his bodily functions were within the accepted norms. He would no doubt fancy another go round when he awoke but his life was no longer in danger so this was her stop. She pulled the faded coverlet over him, more from the disgust she felt at seeing his naked body splayed on the bed that from any concern for his physical comfort.

Strange she thought she would feel more, anger, rage, perhaps hatred but instead she just felt cold, as if her heart had been surgically removed from her body. She recognized the symptoms of shock from her time in the ER where she'd treated rape victims. _Victim?_ No, she was not a victim, not anymore. "This was your choice Christine," she assured herself grimly "It was the only way."

As she turned on the light in the tiny fresher she almost fainted at the sight of her reflection in the rusty mirror and without warning she vomited. It was fortunate that the toilet was close by. She turned on the water in the sink, wondering if it was actually safe to drink. Scooping up a handful from the running tap she examined it. It was clear and had no noticeable odor so she decided to chance it and rinsed her mouth several times before taking a long drink.

Allowing the sheet to drop to the floor she catalogued the horrific collection of scratches and bruises on her fair skin. There were bruises on her face where he'd attempted several times to meld with her despite his promise to refrain from any mental joining between them. He had come close at several points but she'd been able to derail his desire for her mind with her body. The dermal regenerator would take care of most of her injuries, she reassured herself, though the bite mark on her thigh would most likely leave, at best, a faint scar. It was a small price to pay to crush the love that had kept her heart tethered for ten years to a man who would never love her.

Her fingernails, she noticed for the first time, were broken and stained with the dark green hue she recognized as dried Vulcan blood, and it brought a strange feeling of pleasure to think she had perhaps scarred him as well. "Get on with it," she reproached the ravaged stranger in the mirror.

Pulling the tiny holovid recorder from her bag she balanced it on the empty towel bar clicked it on and stepped back as far as possible in the cramped space. Slowly she did a 360 degree turn for the camera, her face an emotionless mask worthy of a Vulcan. "Yes," said into the small recorder her voice cold and without inflection. "Love is highly illogical. This…"she ran her hand over the marks on her creamy white breasts, "this is so much better."

She would have liked to shower the remnants of him from her body, but the tiny shower stall looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since Neil Armstrong landed on the moon, and she had no real way of knowing how long Spock would remain unconscious. Though she'd attempted to plan for any contingency, she had not considered that in the throes of the blood fever he would rip her clothes from her with such force as to shred them to pieces. The set of scrubs she kept in her bag would have to do.

She turned the tiny recorder on again and began speaking, her voice cold, emotionless. After she finished the recording she picked up her bag and returned to the bedroom. Cautiously she moved toward the sleeping man on the bed, his breathing was heavier now and from the way the way the coverlet tented between his legs it was only a matter of minutes before he would awaken.

Positioning the tiny recording unit next to him on the bed, she felt a fleeting pang of regret that things had ended this way. Why had he come to her, knowing that she loved him, knowing that she'd finally begun to move on? But he did come, laying the burden his ancient alien need before her, knowing she would not let him die. Then came the final obscenity, the heavy iron chain to bind her to his need till her death, he'd offered the monstrous thing to her as though it was a fine golden necklace. That was when she saw it, the way out. _Kaiidith_, the Vulcan word seemed painfully appropriate at the moment. _What is, is_.

Quietly, she opened the door and walked out into the morning light, the air crisp and clean. It was going to be a beautiful day she decided, and for the first time in a long time she felt free.


	10. Chapter 10

OK this started out as a song meme for the Beatles "Why Don't We Do It in the Road, but kind of went off on its own. ************************************************************************

"Here?" the Vulcan raised a skeptical eyebrow as he surveyed the small nondescript storage room.

"Yes, get in here," the dark haired woman countered impatiently with a raised eyebrow of her own. "We have less than ten minutes; I didn't exactly have time to book a room at the Four Seasons on Risa."

"Actually, 9.41 minutes would be more precise."

"Damn it Spock, get the hell in here now!"

The door made a gentle swishing sound as it closed tightly behind him, followed by the soft clicking sound of the electronic privacy lock engaging. He looked into her sapphire blue eyes and put on his best Vulcan First Officer authoritarian countenance. "Are you not on duty at this time Doctor Chapel?"

"Yes I am, Sir; although I don't recall that having ever been an issue in the past, Sir," she responded brightly, adding a perfect Star Fleet regulation salute. "That ticking sound you hear is the sound of my biological clock mister, so tick tock step up to the plate."

"Christine, this is highly illogical," the Vulcan argued looking around the cramped room again.

"I'll tell you what's 'highly illogical' mister," she responded placing her hands on her hips, her lovely face morphing into a scowl. "I find it highly illogical that you're beaming down on a landing party with the Captain for three days when I'm ovulating."

"But…" Spock tried to respond but reconsidered any possible response to the, no doubt, hormonally compromised woman, as she held up a silencing finger and the forbidding scowl deepened.

"Okay, here are your choices. You can go tell the Captain that he can beam down to the planet and piss off yet another galactic species by himself, or you can drop your pants and get to work."

She moved toward him seductively, her wonderfully curved hips swaying with unspeakable promises, and he responded by pulling her to him and claiming her velvety soft lips in a passionate languorous kiss.

"What are you doing," she asked crossly, breaking the kiss and pushing at his finely muscled chest with palm of her open hand.

The Vulcan raised his eyebrow and canted his head slightly to one side, his almost imperceptibly upturned lips telegraphing a look of puzzled bemusement. "If you find it necessary to ask I must assume that I am not doing it properly."

"There's no time for that," she tapped the chrono on her wrist for emphasis.

"But Christine…" he stammered his cheeks blossoming to delicate verdigris hue. "If we don't…" he shook his head trying to push through the sudden feeling of awkwardness. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "You…your body… It will be unprepared…"

"That won't be a problem," she whispered back, her voice soft, sultry like a hot desert breeze. "I sort of started before you got here."

"Indeed," he responded.

"Okay," she sighed "think of it as a logistics problem. You are the captain of a freighter full of very important, time sensitive cargo that needs to be offloaded. You just need to get the shuttle craft into the cargo bay… and now you have six minutes."

"Ah," he nodded seriously, "You are attempting to appeal to my romantic nature; however I am not certain I can get the shuttle "up" and running and complete the mission given such a short window of opportunity."

The scowl slowly returned to her face, and her hands returned to her hips." Just Vulcan up and do it," she responded tartly.

"Christine..."

"Okay," she said confidently, "I didn't want it to come to this… you know the special thing I do?" she said gravely using the first and middle fingers of each hand to embellish the words, special thing, with ersatz quotation marks, "the special thing that you like so much?"

The amused look in the Vulcan's eyes suddenly showed a trace of alarm as he nodded. "I am inordinately fond of the "special thing"," he agreed anxiously.

"Well," she continued, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. "It is possible that I may be taking the "special thing" off of the menu."

"I see," he tapped his finger lightly against his lips, apparently weighing his options. Without warning he moved on her, pressing her backward against the low shelving unit with one powerful hand while his free hand swept away the stacked boxes of supplies on the top of the unit. He eased her back and slightly up onto the narrow surface, his long fingers deftly unfastening the closure of his uniform pants.

"If the special thing is in danger, then perhaps a Vulcan warship would be in order," he whispered, his rough baritone sending shivers through the woman. Running his hand up her silken thigh he was not particularly surprised to discover that she was wearing nothing underneath her short skirt to impede the ever so delicate progress of his fingertips. He nodded softly, it was as she had told him, she was physically quite ready and indeed most eager, it appeared, to join with him. Satisfied that he would not hurt her, he entered her quickly, pausing only a few seconds to relish the feeling of being inside of her before moving in a building rhythm within her.

"Harder," she groaned urging him on, and he was most pleased to oblige her as his senses narrowed to one focal point, every fiber of his being joined in common purpose moving toward one ancient intention. Frantically his hands found her face, the sensitive fingertips seeking the psi points. He thrust himself into her mind as he thrust himself into her cool depths, ensnaring her in the visceral vortex of burning need and pulling her along with him over the edge into a tidal wave of indescribably bliss.

He removed himself ever so gently from her mind, even as he withdrew his spent member from her body.

Reaching across to a neighboring shelf she retrieved a container of cleansing wipes and handed them to him as she sighed contentedly.

"I didn't know Vulcan had warships?" she asked seriously, struggling to suppress a fit of laughter.

"They do not," he responded thoughtfully, "nor do you have a restaurant or a "menu", but they were an entertaining pair of metaphors do you not agree my wife?" He pulled her close and gave her a warm deep kiss. Tenderly he placed his hand on the swell of her abdomen and whispered something which she recognized as his native Vulcan. Sensing her unspoken question he said, "I am asking the ancestors to watch over you, and to find it in their wisdom to grant us a child to honor them."

The pair shared another kiss then he said, "I must go T'hy'la, the Captain will be waiting."

She responded with a gentle nod.

"I trust that the "menu" shall remain unchanged when I return?" he asked, as he checked his hair in the small mirror by the door, the barest suggestion of a smile playing across his gaunt features.

"I believe that you will find anything you desire available upon your return."

Spock tapped the small illuminated panel next to the door and the privacy lock disengaged making a soft beeping sound,

"Even the "special thing'?" he asked as the steel door slid open and he stepped into the deserted hallway.

"Can you keep a secret?" she said, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling.

"I am Vulcan Christine," he responded dryly, attempting to fend off the minor feeling of offense he felt at her question. "My people are among the most circumspect in the universe."

"I too," she smiled seductively as the door slowly closed, "am inordinately fond of the "special thing,"

"Fascinating," he said to no one in particular as he walked briskly in the direction of the turbolift. As he waited for the lift to arrive he found himself illogically hoping that the Captain would somehow refrain from pissing off the people on the planet below, and he would be able to return to the ship as quickly as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

Christine Chapel heroically stifled a yawn as she exited the turbolift into the silent dimly lit corridor which led to Sickbay. With only four hours of sleep under her belt, every cell in her body was crying out for coffee. The silvery doors softly swooshed open at her approach and finding no witnesses in the unoccupied outer office she surrendered to her bone weariness, indulging in a long, languorous yawn and stretched out her bed stiffened muscles.

The light was on in M'Benga's office; and as she programmed a fresh pot of strong black coffee from the office replicator he came out to join her.

"You're early." he said as she handed him a steaming cup.

""With the parties last night, I thought you'd be swamped."

"On and off," the African doctor replied, "nothing serious, just some bangs and scrapes, mostly mega doses of antitox for all the booze." He set the cup down and smiled as the darkhaired woman rearranged the chartpads on the nurse's station.

"Chris," he admonished gently, "you're a doctor now, leave that for the nurses."

"Sorry," she laughed softly, "McCoy's been after me about that for the past four months. I guess old habits really do die hard."

"You didn't go to any of the parties?"

She shook her head, "I've got some projects going in the lab that needed my attention. Well, if you have things in hand here, I can use the time to catch up on my paperwork. I'll be in my office if you need me."

Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she grabbed a handful of report pads and headed for her office. There really was nothing like that first cup of coffee in the morning after a long night in the lab, she mused sitting down at her computer terminal. The comm light was blinking signaling that she had messages waiting for her.

"Computer play messages, Chapel delta pi seven."

"Chapel delta pi seven authenticated. You have seven new messages."

"Seven messages?" she responded with a puzzled frown. "Sort by priority code."

"All priority level one."

"List," at her command a list of senders popped onto the screen. Though she recognized all of the names, one name, stood out among the rest.

"Play Commander Spock's message first, the play remainder sorted by rank."

As the angular features filled her screen, Christine felt an anxious fluttering in her stomach. Nearly four month's after Spock's return from the monastery at Gol to the Enterprise they appeared to be on the verge of becoming what her grandmother used to call an "item". He had invited her to share the evening meal with him tonight in the Officer's dining room. Maybe he was getting the Vulcan equivalent of cold feet?

Tentatively she touched the screen and the message began.

"What the hell…" she stared at the screen after the message ended certain now that she was still in her bed sound asleep. As the next message began, this one from the Admiral, she started to wonder if her coffee had been spiked with some little known alien hallucinogen. The remaining messages played out, each; it seemed exponentially more bizarre than the previous one. As the final message finished Christine found her utter shock was gradually morphing into fury.

"Computer," she commanded sharply, "Memo from Dr Christine Chapel acting CMO USS Enterprise to Admiral James Kirk, Commander Spock, Commander Montgomery Scott, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu, and Lieutenant Pavel Chekov." She took a deep, breath.

"Gentlemen and I use that term loosely. I am in receipt of each of your missives from earlier this morning. I would like to take this opportunity to make myself perfectly clear to all of you.

"I do not wish to lower my shields and be boarded. I do not wish to see the Captain's "log". I do not wish to see your "plasma injectors". I do not wish to have my warp core "breeched"", nor my warp nacelles "adjusted". I am uninterested in attending any "debriefing sessions" in any of your quarters. I do not require anyone to clean my antimatter chamber. I do not wish to make "first contact". No, you may not "pet my tribbles". I am not interested in hearing anymore metaphors that include the following: shuttlecraft and shuttle bays, Jeffries tubes, your "warp drive", thrusters, photon or for that matter any sort of torpedoes, zucchini, plomeeks or any similarly shaped fruits or vegetables.

"I believe that is goes without saying that if told me 'I had a beautiful body', I would under no circumstances in this or any possible universe hold it against any of you."

"Computer please attach link to Starfleet Sexual Harassment Interactive Tutorial" she continued, her sapphire eyes flashing. "You will each find yourselves locked out of your duty stations until you have logged in and completed the test with a 100 percent ranking.

"Computer please cc this portion of memo to Catering and Ships Stores, in the future Romulan Ale will not be served at any ship's functions under any circumstances. Existing stores of said item are to be destroyed by oh eight hundred hours this date under the authority of Dr Christine Chapel MD, PhD acting Chief Medical Officer USS Enterprise.

"Chapel out!."


End file.
